


A Bone In Her Teeth

by Tarn



Series: Things Nautical [3]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarn/pseuds/Tarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>News of Jack’s disappearance gets to James and things seem as bad as his worst nightmares can conjure.  Will James compromise his career and risk his life to save the man he loves and in doing so accept the love for what it is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bone In Her Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> New Notes: Written years ago before the sequels. So timeline is divergent from after Curse of the Black Pearl. The Non-Con is light but still best to warn.
> 
> Original Notes: Ok, this is new for me. I rarely write non-con. Hell, I pretty much never even read the stuff. But the muses asked for it. Yes, Jack asked to be hurt, but don’t worry he’s tough. Basically this is as dark as I’ve really ever written. For anyone who doesn’t know, the term ‘bone in her teeth’ refers to the word bone as a term for foam at the stem, the timber at the very front of the bow, of a vessel underway. It’s a colloquial phrase implying that a boat is moving through the water at considerable speed.
> 
> Sorry folks, it’s another cliffhanger. They won’t let me just finish it…

A Bone In Her Teeth

James Norrington bit his lip, stifling an exclamation of pain. He gave Dr. Jenkins an annoyed look. “Must you move it like that?”

“Yes, otherwise how am I to know if it’s healing properly? Which it isn’t, by the by. You’ve been on it more than you should, Commodore.” The doctor gave him a scolding look.

James smirked. “I know. Honestly, Thomas, I am bored. At least with past injuries I had an interesting story to tell about it while convalescing. I fell down an open hatch like a dolt isn’t the sort of tale of naval glory and heroism I’m used too. Couldn’t I return to light duty? Just sit at my desk and get some work done?”

Jenkins looked at him with compassion. “Sorry, James. I want you off your feet for another five days, at least. You’re in serious danger of re-injury at this point. You need rest and a little light movement. Light, I said. Not going up and down the stairs and nearly falling. A walk around your bedroom and study should suffice.”

The man was right. If it hadn’t been for Kendricks catching hold of him, he would have tumbled down the stairs a few times. This inactivity was driving him insane, however. Two weeks of sitting and lying down and sitting and lying down were wearing on his patience. “Five more days?”

“At least. Really now, James. Most men would be happy to be bedridden for a few weeks. Maybe you need a mistress to keep you there, eh?” Thomas smiled mischievously. 

This was the reason that many in town disliked the man. He was cheeky. It reminded James of the eccentric country doctors he’d known in his youth. For some reason, traveling about the English countryside administering medicine to its people often made you peculiar. Dr. Thomas Jenkins was no exception, though the location was rather different. Island life, he supposed. The only really terrible thing about his jest was that it made James think of Jack. “A lover would probably just badger me more than you do, Thomas.”

“Or injure you worse than you do yourself, but at least it would be a pleasant experience. Very well, I’ll return in five days to check your progress.” After giving Mrs. Havadem another five days worth of laudanum, and giving James the first dose, he instructed Kendricks to watch his master like a hawk and left.

James was just about to pick up the Shakespeare folio he was vaguely reading when Kendricks informed him of another visitor. Governor Swann pushed into the room before he was fully announced. “James! Oh god, James. Something terrible has happened to Elizabeth! I just know it has. Why did I ever give my blessing to this mad union? And that Jack Sparrow! To think I trusted him! This is awful, awful.”

“Weatherby! Whatever are you babbling about?” James rubbed his temples. Dealing with Jenkins and Swann within a few moments of each other was more than any man could take.

“This!” He waved a roll of parchment held tight in his fist. “A pigeon delivered it to my house less than an hour ago. Yes, a pigeon. A bird! It’s preposterous! It’s from William.”

“And?”

“And what? Isn’t it enough that I receive cryptic messages by bird from my new son-in-law?”

James rubbed his hand down his face in exasperation. “Lord give me strength. What does the blasted letter say, Weatherby?”

“Nothing! It just says to give you this. Nothing more. Nothing about my daughter or where they are or anything.” Weatherby flopped onto the chair he usually sat in when he came to visit. 

“Well, than give it to me, man!!” Panic was running through him. This had better be something more than a bawdy love letter or Jack was in for it.

“Oh.” Swann handed over the roll of parchment, looking crestfallen. “Sorry. It’s very agitating not knowing if she’s safe.”

James understood that feeling all too well. He’d been having the most worrisome dreams about Jack. Not that the man couldn’t take care of himself, but trouble seemed to follow him about like his shadow. And from Gibbs’ letter, his concern was well-founded. He read it through quickly, ignoring the startling news that the sailor seemed entirely aware of their relationship. Jack’s disappearance was a matter of far greater import.

“She’s fine. Elizabeth, I mean.” He wanted to scream. Why wasn’t he screaming? Why was James calmly telling the man that his daughter was well and sound while the man he loved was likely in the clutches of an enemy from his past? A man that Gibbs considered highly dangerous? Years of tight emotional control were all he had to hold on to so that he didn’t lose the tiny shred of composure left to him at that moment.

Swann wasn’t having a bit of it. “James! Dear God, what’s wrong?”

The Commodore swallowed back the lump that had risen in his gorge. “Jack Sparrow is missing, presumably taken captive by a man he wronged somehow in the past. So the Black Pearl is stranded. None of the crew, including Will and Elizabeth, will go on without him. They are in Newport, Rhode Island colony.” James stood and limped to his wardrobe. 

“Zounds!”

James fought the desire to shout at Weatherby for using such a weak oath. He wanted to bellow obscenities out the window himself. Instead he hissed at the man. “Either help me dress or call Kendricks in.”

“James? Are you well?” The confusion on the Governor’s face was pathetic. 

“What an absurd question. Of course not! I can barely stand, man. But I have to. I have to do something.” The words grew quieter until James was whispering them, absorbed in his panic as he fought with his clothing. The fact that he had an audience seemed to escape him. “I have to because I love him. Oh, God, how I love him. If I lose him, if this Dylan hurts him, I’ll kill him.”

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “James?”

Weatherby’s voice was so full of concern, so gentle. James’ entire resolve melted as he collapsed against the older man’s shoulder. “Oh God... I can’t... what if I don’t get there in time? What if I can’t save him? I’ll die, Weatherby... without him I’ll die.”

The man stiffened at first, but then Weatherby’s hand started to pat his back gently. It began as an awkward attempt at comfort, but then shifted into something more like a father or even a preacher would give. Rather more like a preacher since this was a confession of sorts, after all.

James felt suddenly very piteous and sad. He was essentially crying on the other man’s shoulder, Commodore James Norrington, weeping like a child over a lover. A male lover, no less. One who’s name he was whispering through his tears. No covering this up, no flippant remark or application of a dry military platitude could send the truth back into hiding. The secret was out, to Swann at least.

Clearing his throat and pulling a handkerchief from his robe pocket, James tried to compose himself. “My apologies, Weatherby. My leg...”

“Oh, don’t bother James. You’re as bad as my daughter was, trying to pretend she wanted you when her heart was set on William. I saw through that then as I do your posturing now. I must admit I’m a little shocked. I never figured you for a...” Weatherby seemed to stumble for the right word.

“Sodomite?” James smirked, a little of his wit returning.

“Well, I was going to say woman-hater, but that simply doesn’t fit. Your affection for my Elizabeth seemed genuine enough after all.” Weatherby moved back half a step to give him more room.

“It was. It just wasn’t love.” The difference between his reaction to Elizabeth’ s capture by Barbossa and this suddenly occurred to James. The image of a hatchet cleaved into a chart and the table beneath it, came to him. Will had been frantic and irrational. Then he hadn’t understood, but everything had changed. Rational thought had no part in it, he simply needed to get to the Fort and find some way of getting to Jack. With this in mind he began to pull clothes from the wardrobe again. 

“My brother hung himself.”

“What?” He looked at Swann, his eyes going wide in shock.

“In prison, after being captured in a raid at a Molly House. It’s a terrible name, but I do recall that’s what they call them. Our father disinherited him. I was too young to really understand any of it, all I knew was I loved my brother and he was gone. You remind me of him, James. And not just because of the... well, you know.” He smiled. “I suppose that’s why I was so keen on you and Elizabeth marrying.”

“Ah.” James felt strange. To be accepted out of hand like this was beyond his expectations. His own father would never have done so. “I doubt your brother ever found himself in love with a pirate, however.”

“No, I think he was a milliner. It hardly matters, though. I doubt if I had truly planned it I would not have married a woman with so weak a heart. Nor would Elizabeth have chosen a blacksmith over a prestigious Navy man. We don’t love with our heads, James.” Weatherby’s smile had not left him yet.

“Indeed. So what do I do now? I have to find him.”

“Well, of course you do. Let me fetch Kendricks and I’ll accompany you to Fort Charles. We’ll find a way; in fact I insisted you go after them. Will and Elizabeth are Jack’s responsibility and he is yours. The Letter of Marque says so.” The Governor bowed curtly then and left the room.

James pulled Gibbs’ letter from the pocket where he’d shoved it. Gibbs knew. Weatherby knew. Who else was aware of the love affair? It didn’t matter. What mattered was Jack, and finding out just who this scoundrel who’d taken him was. He had to get to his office and look over his files. The name Dylan Maurer was familiar, as was the ship, Osprey. It was impossible to know where exactly he’d seen it, given the number of warrants and arrest reports he’d read over the years.

He continued to ponder it as Kendricks helped him dress and climb into Governor Swann’s carriage. “Thank you, Weatherby.”

The man merely nodded as the driver started toward the Fort. James hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Fort Charles until the massive structure came into view. Not as much as Jack, but still rather a lot. He also hadn’t realized how much he missed his lieutenants, either. “Groves, Gillette.”

“Commodore!” Groves said excitedly as he entered the office the two men shared.

“Finally returning to us, sir?” Gillette looked very hopeful.

“Sadly no. I’m here on urgent business. I need your help to find any information you can on a pirate captain Dylan Maurer, or ships called The Osprey or The Silver Fish.” James leaned on his cane heavily, more from worry and fatigue than the pain in his ankle.

“Might I inquire as to the reason, sir?” Gillette was always the more rigid of his lieutenants.

“You may, though I’m not required to answer.”

Weatherby interjected before things became colder in the room. “It’s a private matter, Lieutenant Gillette.”

Gillette accepted this with a nod and joined his fellow officer in the search. James limped into his office quietly. “Contumacious twit. He’s been becoming more impudent by the week. The last time he and Groves came to visit me, I had to take him to task for some less than appropriate remarks about your daughter.” James slumped in his chair. It was good to be back in his office, even if his officers didn’t know how to treat him.

“Unfortunate, yes. I’ve had to deal with quite a few indelicate comments from various members of Port Royal society. Elizabeth’s wedding caused quite a stir.” Weatherby fiddled with the blotter on James’ desk. “Can I help at all?”

“Yes, you can. In the barrister's bookcase you’ll find folios of warrants. If you could bring a stack to me, I can begin looking for Captain Maurer.”

Hours passed before Groves came into the office with a grimace on his face. “I found something, sir, but you won’t like it. It’s about Jack Sparrow.”

James merely nodded, as he’d expected that. “Yes?”

“An account of his escape from the Dutch East India Company while in the Orient. It was reported he was sailing under a Captain Dylan Maurer in a ship named The Silver Fish.” Groves smirked. “No indication that his captain helped him to pull it off, though. How he managed that escape still remains a mystery.” 

“Yes.” Someday he’d have to get Jack to tell him that story. “Thank you, Groves. Do we know when the events took place?”

“A little over eight years ago. Shortly thereafter, Maurer seems to disappear, but the next report of Sparrow is three years later in a Virginia coastal settlement, in the company of a French merchant and his native wife. There are no further details.” He set his notes on the desk.

James smirked a little to himself. He knew some details about the Frenchman and his ‘wife’. Jack had hinted that the three of them had been lovers in hopes of shocking his new lover. He’d been disappointed. “I think I’d be more surprised to find there are things you hadn’t done, Jack.” He’d mused, which had gotten him pounced and tickled until the laughter turned to moans and moans into...

“Commodore?” 

Groves’ voice pulled him from his fancy. “Yes... um. Keep looking for more on Maurer. We are aware of Jack Sparrow’s association with him. In fact, that’s the matter we’re trying to deal with.”

“Is Sparrow in trouble, sir?” The officer’s concern was plain, but whether it was for the man himself or those in his charge, was hard to say. His eyes did flit to the Governor as he spoke.

James looked at Swann, who simply nodded. He returned his eyes to Groves, trying to hide his own worry over Jack. “He is. We received word from Will Turner that Captain Jack Sparrow is missing and believed to have been taken by force. Maurer is the primary suspect. He was at the tavern Jack was last seen in and they have a history.”

Groves blinked a little at his commander’s use of Jack’s given name. James had to watch that. “So Mr. and Mrs. Turner are stranded where, sir?”

“Newport, in the colony of Rhode Island. I estimate that Sparrow has been missing about a week by now.” A week seemed about right, though really he had no clue.

“Do you intend to go after them, sir?”

Them? Which them did he mean? “I do. Jack Sparrow is my responsibility, mine and Governor Swann’s”

“But in your condition, sir, is that wise?” Groves suddenly seemed rather more concerned for him than any of the people stranded in Newport. An odd turn.

“It’s not a matter of wisdom, Groves, but of duty.” He tried to leave it at that, but Groves ignored his dismissal. 

“Permission to speak freely, Commodore?” The young officer’s eyes darted to the Governor. 

James was about to reprimand him for rudeness to the gentleman, but the sound of Weatherby clearing his throat stopped him. He set the folio of files he was holding down and moved his hands behind his back. “I think I’ll see what Lieutenant Gillette has found. If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed and left the room.

“Permission granted, but this had better be important, Lieutenant.” James’ eyes narrowed at his subordinate.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” Groves’ voice lacked all feeling but his eyes were afire. James was startled by the question, but the man continued before he could protest. “I only say this because I love her, too. Always have. I gave up any chance of having her in favor of you, sir. I assumed I was beneath her. Turned rather ironic in the end, did it not? Not that it matters now. I was just expressing concern over your motivations, Commodore. If you jeopardize your career again over a woman who does not want you, who is in fact married to another man, what career do you hope to have left?” 

Groves’ eyes were pleading. So much so that James had to wonder with whom the young man was truly enamored, Elizabeth or himself. It also made the fact of his recently broken engagement more intriguing. It wasn’t the time, however, to ponder the man’s affections and James was in no mood to suffer the emotional confusion of an officer under his command. Groves was out of line, even if James reasons for the rescue were questionable. “You forget yourself, Lieutenant. My motivations are not your concern. Governor Swann’s daughter and son-in-law were under Captain Sparrow’s protection, and with that protection gone the responsibility falls to me. That should be reason enough. Since I am not currently on active duty, I’ll pretend this discussion did not occur and I will thank you to remember your place better in the future.”

A few tense moments passed while the Commodore and Lieutenant stared each other down. Finally, Groves’ eyes dropped and he took a step back from the desk in deference. With a muttered ‘forgive me, sir’, he turned to leave the room without so much as a backward glance.

“What was that about?” Weatherby returned shortly, puzzlement evident on his face. “Grooves looks as though he’s had a proper dressing down.” 

“Not as proper as he deserves. Grooves felt the need to call my judgment into question.” James scowled, he’d likely have to justify his actions a great deal in the coming hours and he was not looking forward to it. 

Governor Swann’s brow knit together in concern. “Hmm, I’ll have to make it clear that you have my full support in this matter. Just to extinguish any further difficulty. He does have a point though, James. This endeavor could put your career at serious risk.” 

“So does loving a pirate, but as you said, Weatherby. We don’t love with our heads.”

The rest of the day was spent finding what miniscule amount of information they could and realizing that there was no way that James could hope to use one of the Fort’s ships for the rescue. Doing so would destroy any chance James had of still being a Commodore when it was over. Much as he stated that he didn’t care, Weatherby wouldn’t hear it and he doubted his officers would allow him to just make off with a ship. 

It had already occurred to him that he would likely have to find another way to journey north, but how to do it was escaping him. Later they made for the Governor’s house and dinner. A meal which very quickly turned into a late night discussion with Groves and the other officers, as well as many of Weatherby’s merchant associates. In the end, James was bundled up to a guest room. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep in one of the parlor armchairs.

His dreams were frightful, featuring a cruel man whose face he never saw, torturing his Jack while he watched, helpless. He woke in the morning feeling thoroughly tired and unwell. 

“Dear Lord! James, you look terrible!” Swann exclaimed at him as James limped into the dinning room.

“Thank you, Weatherby. If it is any consolation, I feel terrible, too.” He sat heavily, placing his hands over his face in defeat.

“I take it you did not sleep well.” The man gave him a sympathetic look that James tried not to detest at the moment. “Well, hopefully my news will cheer you. I’ve obtained you a ship.”

His head snapped up from where it had slumped onto his arms. “What?”

“A ship. Well, since you could not use the Dauntless or the Perseverance, it stood to reason that you’d need another vessel. So you have one. It’s not large, just a ketch, but I’m told that it is fast. And speed is of the essence, is it not?”

“Weatherby. Who owns it?” James was astonished. He was also worried, Swann could scarcely tell the difference between a brig and a sloop. 

“Well, basically you do. I am listed as part owner on the deed, but you are listed as Captain. My solicitor, Collier, is out negotiating with the crew now. Everything is arranged.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“Nonsense. You were very nearly my son. And besides, my daughter and son-in-law are stranded in the wilds of Rhode Island. I expect you to make sure they are safe. Now eat. I’m going to take a late breakfast with Clara. My coach will return to take you to the dock where your ship awaits. I believe her name is The Nereid.” Weatherby smiled and squeezed James’ shoulder in another rather familiar display before heading out of the room.

James watched the man leave, still baffled by the turn of events. In just under one day he’d learned that his lover was in peril, that Weatherby Swann’s brother had been a sodomite and killed himself over it, and that Groves was in love with Elizabeth, but more concerned for his commander’s career than her safety. Now, to finish off all this learning, he had a new ship of which he knew nothing, and his ankle ached. 

The latter items paled in comparison to the first. Nothing at that moment felt so important as Jack. James ate the hearty breakfast placed before him in silence and waited for the coach that would take him to the Nereid. The name of the ship seemed strangely fitting. A water nymph, to find a man who gave the impression of being one of the fairyfolk himself. James had never fully ascribed to the more common superstitions of seafarers, but in this case he hoped it was a good omen. 

* * *

Jack Sparrow’s past had always been a loose, dubious thing- even to him. It was all a game of chance, a throw of the dice. You didn’t control your life; it happened to you. Your job was to take what came and turn it to your advantage. So when he’d lost the Pearl over ten years ago and found himself in the Orient with the rumrunners who’d saved him, he took the first good opportunity that came his way. It came in the form of an angelic face and a dark heart. Dylan Maurer.

Captain Dylan and his ship, The Silver Fish, had a tidy reputation for raiding and smuggling along the coast of Malacca. The illegitimate son of an English diplomat and his Welsh maid, Dylan loved to tell how he’d been educated with his half-siblings only because his wealthy grandfather had shamed his father into it. He proved to be clever with languages though, and learned Welsh, French, Spanish, German, Dutch, and Portuguese before he was seventeen. At nineteen his father took him as a clerk to a new post in the East. 

Along the way pirates attacked the ship and Dylan took the opportunity to betray his father and embark on a career more exciting than clerical work. Since then he’d added Mandarin, Cantonese and a few of the local Malay dialects to his arsenal, all of it spoken in the Welsh accent he picked up from his mother. He stole books as often as he did rum and gold, and played chess like a fiend. A scholar among scoundrels, Jack was instantly drawn to him.

Dylan needed a helmsman and Jack needed an ally and passage. Dylan also needed a new bedmate, or at least he always thought he did. His old one wasn’t happy about the change, but he never complained. Sami wasn’t the type to make a fuss.

Samuka Vas was first mate on The Silver Fish and proud of it. He was also in love with Dylan, as anyone could see. A fact that gave his Captain infinite amounts of power over the other man. If Dylan wanted a new lover, Sami stepped aside. Didn’t mean he didn’t hate his replacement but it was always a cold hate. He’d never risk losing Dylan’s favor entirely.

For a year and half Jack sailed on the Fish, always plotting and saving up for a ship of his own or a way to get the Pearl back. Others told him to forget the Pearl, but Dylan loved to egg him on. Get him intoxicated on one substance or another and get him talking about Barbossa and the mutiny. It was on Dylan’s prompting that he’d cut the first slash in his arm to mark the loss of his ship. Now his left forearm was decorated with ten slanted scars, one for each year without the Pearl. He had no inkling really why he kept it up, but he had. 

And the first time the bastard got him on the subject of Bootstrap? Oh, the tears had fallen like rain. The opium Dylan supplied made Jack’s shame over how he’d hurt his former lover, ache more. Dylan loved to find old wounds and poke them. He lived for it.

All of Jack’s mistakes, trusting Barbossa, hurting Bill, losing the Pearl without a fight because his whole crew, including the man who shared his bed, wanted that miserable cur as their captain more than him. Dylan rooted them out for his own pleasure. And Jack let him get away with it, thought of it as penance. But not for long. 

Little by little the man’s domination began to wear at him. But it wasn’t this that finally pushed Jack to the rash act that ended the association. No, it was finding them. Dylan’s secret sideline, a part of the ship Jack had not seen before. A part he’d been barred from. A slave hold, small but packed with poor souls. The Captain of The Silver Fish was smuggling oriental natives to be traded with Portuguese and Dutch slavers. It wasn’t illegal to have slaves in the region by any means, but to transport them without paying the tariffs was, so Dylan avoided all that.

He’d also avoided telling Jack about it. Why? Because he knew that there were only three immoral activities that Jack hated and wanted no part of. Rape, cold-blooded murder, and slaving. It was the final nail in the coffin.

The plan was simple. Get Maurer and the crew off the ship, and then get the would-be slaves off. The execution was less simple. First, he had to drop a lot of coin on whores, drink and drugs to distract the crew. Second, he and the slaves had to kill three crewmembers to get free of the ship. And third? Well, third he’d intended from the start. Burning The Silver Fish. Jack might have kept the ship for himself, but he didn’t like the idea of having a vessel that smelled of human fear and filth. More importantly he couldn’t raise the riches to hire a new crew after having spent most of it to distract the old one. Anyway, after so long hearing Dylan berate him for losing the Pearl, Jack liked the idea of taking away his ship. And a Captain without a ship is rather like a eunuch. Like an officer without his wig or a buccaneer without his… Arrr!

So after castrating his former lover, Jack left Singapore without a backward glance. He wrangled passage back to the Americas and crossed from one ocean to the other any way he could before finding himself in Virginia. There he met Henri and his berdache wife, Methoataske. The pair of them helped him clean the opium from his system with fasting, chanting and dancing. ‘Taske had even asked him to stay with them, but he couldn’t. His heart was with the Black Pearl.

It still was. He had to admit that James was fast overtaking the ship’s central position, though. James. The name alone was lovely. Something to focus his mind on rather than the empty ache in his gut or pounding pain in his head. After, he glanced at the scratches he’d been making with a stolen spoon in the wall, seven solid days of scarcely eating, he really didn’t know if he could go much longer. He had Henri and ‘Taske to thank for being able to last as long as he had but Great Lord in Heaven! Water and a tiny morsel of bread weren’t enough to keep body and soul properly together.

Following Maurer’s little audience, Jack had been returned to his dark cell on the ship. A lantern and food had been left for him. He tried a little of the food, but he flipped the dish over as soon as he got a taste. Drugged, opium from the taste of it. The bastard was still up to the same old tricks, a little something in the food to make him more compliant. Dylan’s words had really sickened him too much to eat anyway. The gist of it all was that Dylan wanted reparations for the loss of The Silver Fish and he pretty much wanted to take it out of Jack hide.

“So kill me and be done with it, Dylan. Probably lived too long anyway.” Jack had maintained his standard rakehell manner.

“No, I don’t think so. You’re more fun alive.” The man’s smile had been the kind of leer that on James would have turned Jack’s gut to delicious mush. On Dylan it made his skin crawl. “You see Jack, you owe me. You took away two things I was very fond of, your body and my ship. I have a new ship.” 

“Oh you don’t want my body. I’ve aged badly over the years, too much rum and revelry. I’m not sure, but I think I might have the clap. Don’t tell anyone.” Jack had looked around the room, flashing an abashed smile to the people chuckling at him.

“My surgeon should be able to verify that. The years have treated me well. I’m wealthy Jack, wealthy and bored. And now I’d like you to provide me with entertainment. I do hope you’re amenable.”

How those words had rung in his ears as he slumped to the floor. The surgeon had come later and checked his injury. He also checked him for other ailments, a procedure that left him a bit shaky though he covered as best he could. The door did not open again until the ship had stopped moving.

Then his scenery changed. From a ship’s hold to a locked hut on an island that seemed to belong to Maurer and his crew. He’d seen a little of the island the day after they’d arrived when he’d managed to overpower the sailor who brought his food. The great lackwit let his guard down as he bent to set down the plate. Jack took his opportunity after the belaying pin the man carried as a weapon fell from his belt. He snatched it up and knocked him out before anyone was the wiser. 

After such a fortuitous event, it really bothered Jack that all he managed to learn was that he was on an island, that there was a big house on said island, and that the only boat off the island was the Osprey. Trying to sneak onto the ship had earned him a pretty new bruise across his cheek and a return to the hut. After that he just stayed quiet and ate only a mouthful of food for each meal. Enough to stay alive, but not enough to succumb to the opium laced in it. Nothing had changed in six days. 

The door started to open, making Jack pull further away from it. It was likely Sami or one of the other crewmen, bringing him food he’d barely eat. But no, it was Dylan. 

“I’ve heard you haven’t been eating, Jack. Have you become ill?” Maurer’s voice was raw silk over a razor blade.

“Sick already, mate. Sight of you just turns my stomach.” Jack grinned and braced, just in case a blow was coming. 

Dylan just chuckled. “You always have to bait, don’t you Jack? Always have to play with things.”

“Funny, I thought that was more your game. Playing with things. Money, ships, people, loyalties; all just toys to you. Well, I’m not your toy anymore, Dylan. Stick with Sami.” Jack gave the man a defiant look. Or at least it would have been if he wasn’t so bloody wretched.

His adversary just gave him a sad glance and sighed. “Really, Jack. This nobility of yours grows tiresome. I do wish you’d see things my way.”

“If wishes were ships, mate.” Jack grinned.

“Fine, then. It’s a shame, really. They are a handsome couple.” Dylan drew something from inside his coat. He tossed the object at Jack, who didn’t make a move to catch it. Better not to give up anything by showing an interest, or reveal how weak he was becoming.

The black square of his compass landed with a thud on the dirt floor in front of him. He stared at it, blinking. The compass hadn’t been on his person when Dylan’s men had jumped him. It wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be sealed in a lockbox in his cabin on the Pearl, with all the other things most important to him. Locks could be broken, though, and apparently ships could be stealthily boarded and lockboxes taken from them. Bugger. 

Great bloody bugger in fact. Well, at least it meant that the Pearl had not abandoned him, though he almost wished they had for their own safety. What a time for them to, once again, abandon the Code and stick around rather than save their own skins. Probably Will and Elizabeth’s fault. He looked back at Maurer, face as blank as he could make it while worrying about his crew and friends. 

“Don’t worry, Jack. No one’s been hurt. We were just retrieving some of your effects. I do plan to keep you, you know.” Dylan smiled his shark’s grin. “Not much in it, really. Just that dear compass of yours, a few baubles with sentimental value of some sort, I’m sure. Various coins of different countries. A Letter of Marque, which I find very interesting. And...” Dylan pulled a roll of paper from his coat. “A love letter from some fellow named James. And not just any fellow. A Navy man. Why, Jack, you’ve found yourself a new beau, haven’t you? How sweet.”

That did it. Jack’s resolve broke and he did something really brainless. He snapped, he bleed’n lost control. Rushed right forward with all the strength he could muster and tried to take the letter from the larger man. What was worse, Jack didn’t even know he was doing it until his fingers brushed against the paper.

It almost worked, though. The move so startled Dylan that he had to dance back away from Jack’s clawing fingers to avoid losing an eye. With a knee to Jack’s stomach and an upward strike to his chin, Dylan sent him reeling back to the ground. Once there, Jack stayed still and tried to figure out just when he’d lost his fuck’n mind. 

“That was stupid, Jack. Very stupid.” Dylan kicked him in the ribs, making Jack curl into a ball on his side to protect himself. He held back any exclamations despite his pain. Dylan reached down to take hold of Jack’s hair and pull him up to sit. He hissed into Jack’s ear, his grip firm on the other man’s hair. “This little show of defiance ends here, Jack. You’re mine now, I own you. And I will use you as I like. You do have one choice left to you. Accept the situation or watch me have some fun with that pretty pair on your ship. Who are they I wonder? I’d thought you’d found a lovely new set of bedmates, but after this letter I’m not so sure. Now she’s a lady of means, my men have reported that she’s friendly with the Royal Governor. And him? He’s just very pretty.”

Dylan leered and reached up to finger Jack’s beard braids and chin in a mockery of a tender caress. “If you prefer, I can take the debt you owe me out of them instead. Or better yet, find this James of yours and let him pay for your sins.”

“Go right ahead. You know what’ll happen if you do.” Again stupid. All that threat got him was a slap cross the face. 

“You’ll kill me, I know.” The man then tilted his head sharply and plundered his mouth in the vilest of kisses. It was the kind of kiss that made all the sweet ones he’d ever had so much sweeter for the comparison. Jack didn’t bother holding back a wave of revulsion, and after the kiss broke he made a nasty face and stuck out his tongue.

“It’s simple, Jack.” Dylan purred, ignoring his little show. “You submit to me or I kill your whole crew, burn your beloved ship to ash, and teach those friends of yours what real pain is. Your choice.”

It wasn’t a choice at all. Sacrifice himself so people he cared about would be safe, or save his own hide but live with betrayal. That’s what it came down to, really. It wasn’t a question of whether Jack Sparrow had gone soft, lost his edge because he’d come to care about some people enough to compromise his life to protect theirs. It was all about loyalty and trust and betrayal. He trusted his crew not to mutiny; they trusted him not to sell them out to a madman. And after everything that Will and Elizabeth had risked to save him from the rope how could he surrender them to Dylan’s mercy?

And then there was James. It was disquieting to realize that he might be willing to die for the man but there it was. After so many years of holding everyone at arm’s length, it was a shock. A good one, though. A shock that offered strength and support. Will and the rest wouldn’t abandon him, and James would most likely kill Dylan for what Jack was about to let him do. Which was good. A truly lovely image.

As he snaked his hand suggestively up the other mans leg, that image, and others of James, kept his disgust at bay. They made the altogether disturbing feeling of Dylan’s lips again claiming his bearable. The bastard’s grip softened to something almost gentle, which made Jack feel really ill. He’d endure it though, he’d keep the desire to vomit at the man’s touch to himself as he was undressed and ravaged.

And oh, did he want to vomit. Wanted to puke as he played the willing slut for Dylan. Gave it up like a good whore ought. Moved when he was told, stayed still when he was told. Everything. Jack let his body respond to the caresses, allowing physical arousal to occur even as he tried not to heave. It helped that here was little in his stomach to start with. 

He stopped thinking about James altogether because it increased his repulsion rather then his excitement. If this was to work, if Dylan was to believe he had him, he had to appear almost as though he wanted it. The man had to think he could break Jack. The more Dylan thought he had the upper hand; the easier the tables could be turned on him. 

Jack took strange comfort in the knowledge that in his own twisted way, Dylan was a man of his word. How many times had he seen him make absurd deals with hostages just to show he could? He liked appearing as though he was a benevolent Robin Hood type, rather than a cruel madman who delighted in playing with people. It stroked his ego. Not unlike how Dylan was stroking him, so sure of his prowess. Jack reminded himself that he had a bloody good reason not to try and break the man’s face. 

A long time ago, after Jack had first learned one of the harder lessons of sea life, he promised himself he’d never let it happen again. He’d managed to keep that promise, either through violence or guile. Even now he could believe he wasn’t being forced. He was letting it happen to win an advantage. Still, as Dylan pinned him down to the dirt floor of the hut to take exactly what he wanted, it sure as hell felt like rape.

* * * 

The lines of white foam streaming out from either side of the bow stretched on past and behind them. James watched them from the bench he’d occupied on every one of the five days they’d been at sea. Morning, noon, and night he sat there, watching the five-person crew man the boat. He wanted to help. Work rigging, or trim sails, or steer a bit, but lingering stiffness in his ankle prevented it. Still, he was doing far better than Dr. Jenkins had said he would on ship. It was likely the salt air and the activity. James never healed well if he was cooped up. Out on the ocean he was at his happiest.

Edward Dracup passed by him on his way to relieving his father at the wheel. The senior Dracup, Abraham, walked to the bow of his ship to relieve himself before heading below to see what his daughter, Lucy, had cooking in the galley.

They were an odd little family, his crew. Abraham Dracup and his four children. Edward, his eldest son by his first wife. Daveth, son of his second wife and her first husband. Lucy, Abraham’s daughter by Daveth’s mother. And lastly Reuben, whose mother Abraham had apparently never married. Collier had found them along with the Nereid and negotiated the hiring. Experienced sailors who knew the ship and could work together like they were born to it, which they were if you thought about it.

These five kept the ship running around him, while James just watched. Watching was teaching him a lot, in truth. Abraham drank enough to make Jack proud, but somehow managed to steer a perfect course. He was crude and gruff, but respectful when dealing with his employer. Edward really wanted to be in command and would likely take over when his father became too old, which might never happen. He also had a pregnant wife back in Port Royal whom he spoke of near constantly. Daveth spent most of his time with either his sister or his stepbrother Reuben, who he doted on. He was a master of rigging and sails, a model boatswain. He was also the family caretaker, seeing to wounds and tempers with an almost motherly concern.

Lucy, in her trousers, her wide-brimmed hat, and short curls might have been mistaken for a man if her rather generous features didn’t give it away. Her father was always giving her the most womanly of tasks, a fact that only served to infuriate her. Not that she’d complain openly. Edward treated her much the same as her father, but Daveth and Reuben worked along side her as though she were no different from them. Lucy was a source of puzzlement for James, to whom the idea of a female sailor was still foreign. Abraham had merely shrugged at his surprise. 

“Not my idea sir. I’d promised her Ma I’d watch over her and the Nereid’s the only home we have. Besides, the ship needs five able pairs a hands to run proper.” James had neither time nor inclination to protest.

The final member, young Reuben, was a soft-spoken lad who was good with charts and navigation. He was the clerk of the group, happily writing up anything that came into his father’s or eldest brother’s head. He also worshiped Daveth, a fact that led James to suspect mateloge.

Actually, he found himself hoping that the pair were lovers. It made him feel less alone. Not that he was likely to mention Jack to any of his crew, for they were his crew. He was the nominal captain, even if he could not do any of the things a captain was supposed to do.

“Commodore Norrington, sir.” Lucy was standing before him with a sour look of her generally comely face.

“You don’t have to call me Commodore or sir, Lucy. You’re not in the Navy.” The fact that she couldn’t openly be if she wished to somehow escaped him at the moment.

“Mr. Norrington, then. Supper’s prepared. It’s not much, fish stew. The biscuits are burnt, too.” She frowned, the entire art and practice of cooking lost on her. He’d have avoided the stew altogether, except he knew Daveth had helped his sister with it and he was a better cook by far. 

“I suppose I’ll come down and eat, then.” He stood, careful stretching to combat the achy stiffness of his legs.

“You should move around more. Does you no good to sit there letting your joints become rigid.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look that wasn’t motherly, more like an old salt purveying wisdom. Odd how Daveth was the real mother of the family. 

“I am aware. It’s just rather hard to move about on the ship in my current state. I keep tripping and near falling into the drink.”

Lucy eyed him from head to toe. “Aye, and maybe you need to.”

“What?” James blinked. Had the woman just implied that drowning would be good for him?

“Swimming. Some afternoon when we moor for lunch or in the eve before we bed down. A few times round the boat, perhaps. Good for your joints. My brothers all swim on long voyages.” She glanced at the entrance to the lower deck. “I join them when my father’s not paying attention. He gets angry when I swim. Says it’s not lady-like.” The girl smirked.

James blinked at the completely improper statement. Weatherby had always accused Elizabeth of being inappropriate and unladylike. But next to Lucy, she was a picture of femininity. The girl, for all her shape spoke of womanliness, held herself like a sailor born and bred. And even James had to admit she was, no matter the mixed treatment her father gave her. One minute telling her to trim sails or help Daveth with the ropes, the next ordering her to cook a meal, or mend clothes, or some other task that he felt more suited to a girl. It was no wonder she had little understanding of propriety.

“Lucy, don’t bother the Commodore.” Edward was weighing anchor for the night, having steered them to a spot close enough to the coast to be calm, without risking rocks. “Tell Da, we’re moored for the night, and bring me a plate of stew. I’ve got first watch.”

Lucy smirked again and nodded at her brother before heading down into the cabin. He followed, figuring he might as well get his dinner while he was thinking about it. James settled into the seat next to Abraham and half-listened to the man and his sons discussing fishing. The pair sat so close on the bench that Daveth had to rest his arm behind Rueben and eat one handed. The father seemed to ignore the display. 

James ate in silence, watching all of them as he had every meal for five days. Five days. Good Lord, all of this was caused by a mere five days of happiness. His injury, the rushed purchase of a ship, and hiring of its crew. The warnings from Gillette and Groves about his career, and the foolishness of the venture. All predicated on the fact that for five days he and Jack Sparrow had shared passion so brilliant, even the memories made him light-headed.

But what if he arrived in Newport to find that Jack was fine? That he not been taken against his will at all, but rather rekindled an old flame in as rash a manner as he kindled his last. Of course, Gibbs’ letter spoke to the contrary. And Jack would not have gone off without some word to his crew, or his best friends.

No, these were just the inevitable slivers of doubt that worked their way into a mind unused to love. James didn’t expect Jack to love him back, he just hoped for the pirate’s respect. And gratitude, truth be told. Just a thank you for risking all to speed to his rescue. One that came in the form of lusty caresses and unbridled ardor would be nice.

James felt rather selfish for wanting it, though. What if Jack was hurt, tortured, or starved? A fine thing to demand sexual gratification from the wounded. He glumly looked down at his dinner and scolded himself for his melancholy. Reuben reached over to tap the table next to his hand, which startled him into looking up.

“Worried about your friend, sir?”

The question was so unexpected, that James could do nothing but stammer. “I… that is… yes. Yes, I am worried.”

“Don’t fret, Commodore sir. We’ll be in Newport in two days at most. You can find your friend and be off back home in no time.” Abraham smiled. He didn’t know. All that the crew had been told was James was traveling to meet with a friend in trouble. How in trouble and what sort of friend were, of course, secrets.

James got up from the table, his half-eaten stew abandoned. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I have little appetite. The medication for my ankle, you know.”

They let the obvious lie go as James returned to the deck. He walked carefully to the prow of the ship and sat down to watch the sunset. After a while alone, a presence joined him, unspeaking. 

When Lucy did finally break the silence, it was as startling as her brother. “He’s your lover, ain’t he?” 

“I beg your pardon?” James gaped at the girl, shocked by her words. Lucy had already proven herself bold, but this was beyond imagining. The sudden worry that he was really that easy to read went through him. And maybe he was. 

Where Jack was concerned, his heart was on his sleeve. Anyone with any sense could see his distress. If this continued, if Jack and he intended to maintain the relationship, he’d have to learn to hide his feelings better. It was laughable really, Jack had broken through his emotional mask, and now, because of Jack, he had to rebuild it. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Da’s too blind to see the way Daveth and Reuben are together, so he don’t notice what misery you’re in.” Lucy worried her lip a little, having confirmed what he’d already suspected about her brothers.

James looked off at the waves, trying not to give the girl more information about his personal life. “I noticed it. Your brothers, I mean.” 

“Hard not to. They’ve been like that since Rueben was fourteen. Oh, I told them it was unnatural and a sin, but they went right on loving each other anyway. So, I’ve stopped thinking it so wrong. Devotion like that is hard to come by, look at my Da and all his wives.” Lucy smirked, a full proper smirk. Not like the little ones she gave around her father and brothers. “’Sides, they’re not really related, are they? Daveth and I have the same mother, but different fathers. And Rueben and I are both Da’s kids but we have different mothers. So, they are only brothers in love, not blood. Stands to reason that they’d love each other so deep.”

“I suppose.” James didn’t really know how to respond to so much family history. At least he knew she wasn’t standing in judgment. Still, he worried about sharing his own circumstance. No telling whom the girl might tell. James snorted to himself at that. Who indeed? Not only was no one likely to believe a woman sailor over a Navel officer, but in telling Lucy would only draw attention to her own family. Besides, another ally might be useful. He swallowed, before letting the words fall from his mouth. “Yes, Lucy. I’m going to my lover.”

“And he’s in a worse mess than you’re say’n, right?” Lucy seemed unfazed by the first answer.

“Much, though forgive me if I don’t relate the story.” Because he didn’t really know. He knew that Dylan Maurer’s first ship had gone up in flames. But what, if anything, Jack had to do with that, he didn’t know.

“So who is he? Another Navy Officer?” The girl’s eyes shone with eager curiosity.

“No. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” He smiled. 

“Try me. I may be just twenty, but I have seen a lot in those years.” Lucy nodded her head in mock confidence.

“He’s a pirate. Though, I guess you can call him a privateer now. Even with a Letter of Marque, he’s still a pirate, though. Through and through.” Damn. It was growing too easy to say it. He loved a pirate. Next he’d be babbling out his story to barmaids and porters. 

Lucy gaped at him. “A pirate? And you a Commodore of His Majesty’s Navy? My, if that’s not romantic. How did you meet?”

At first James was reluctant, fidgeting and avoiding too many details. After a while though, the words flowed easier. He found himself telling the whole, outrageous story of the cursed gold, and the Black Pearl, and Barbossa, and Elizabeth, and Will. All of it. All of that first adventure, when a pair of dark eyes had first bewitched him. Eyes ringed with kohl and full of mischief. The following story about the wedding and Jack’s finding him in the tavern was less dramatic, but more romantic. And she thought it all lovely. 

He blamed fatigue, his medications, his loneliness and worry over Jack; anything to explain why unburdening himself and just talking felt so good. Why confessing his forbidden love for a pirate to a twenty-year-old woman he barely knew was so soothing. And he could not deny that it was either, for when it came time to climb into the hammock in his cabin, sleep came so much easier than it had the nights before.

* * *

He wasn’t allowed to sleep much. A few hours here, a few hours there. A nap taken between Dylan’s sessions of what he called entertainment. Mostly a hard fuck, or a slow, humiliating suck, or a go with the lash or some other tool of torture, or all of it combined into an orgy of debasement. Dylan liked to admire his handiwork too, show it off to his crew and ask Jack how he felt. The only answer he got was a rakish smile and a ‘oh this, I’ve had worse’ before Jack would start on some wild tale of real pain he’d experienced. It was getting harder to hide behind a smile and not show how piteous he felt. Or how naked.

It wasn’t just that he spent his time wearing little more than a loincloth and a silk robe Dylan had brought back from the Orient, but all of his pretties had been taken from him, too. All the rings, charms, beads and bones that told him who he was and where he had been were gone, sealed away from him with Maurer’s other spoils -- his clothes and compass, and James’ letter. His hair had been freed of braids and as many of the twisted locks as could be removed without losing great portions of hair. He’d been bathed thoroughly, the action repeated thrice a week by Sami per Dylan’s instructions. Bathing was a habit the Captain had picked up in the East and he forced all those around him to the same schedule of regular baths.

All of it had left Jack stripped of his protective layers of clothing, jewelry, kohl, ash and dirt. The uniform that defined him.

Still, though naked and degraded and robbed of dignity, Jack was not broken. Dylan knew it, too. At first, in the days just following his surrender, his continued defiance had served to anger Dylan. Yes, his body was the man’s to plunder and abuse. Yes, Jack would submit to any of the Osprey’s crew that Dylan saw fit to reward. Yes, he would service his master at anytime the bastard demanded. There were still things he wouldn’t give up, however.

The identities of his guests on the Pearl, the bearings to the treasure at Isla De Muerta, or exactly who James was. He wouldn’t even rise to baiting about his feelings for the man, his first outburst over the letter had revealed too much. “Really, Dylan. You can’t expect me to remember every little fling.”

No amount of starvation, beating, or bribery budged him. Maurer finally gave up in exasperation. “Fine, I don’t care who your pretty navy boy is. He can be an Admiral for all the good it will do him. He won’t have the pleasure of you again, regardless.” 

For about nine days Jack had managed to stay alive and sane through all of Dylan Maurer’s ill treatment. He doubted he’d been in so tight a spot before, but he’d been damn close any number of times. If he could live through mutiny, marooning, storms, prisons, hangings, weddings, honeymoons, high society and falling in love, he could live through anything.

It certainly wasn’t that Jack was getting to enjoy the cad’s treatment of him either; his moments of sleep were filled with images of literally castrating the man rather than figuratively, as he’d done last time. Days of repeated defiling had left him achy and sore. At least the bastard slicked himself up before. Most the time. 

Sami accused him of as much, but his logic was born of envy. The man would have given anything to receive even half the attention that Dylan was lavishing on Jack. Jack had offered to trade with him, but sadly Sami wasn’t biting. “Oh, no, Jack. I would not presume to think I could take your place. The Captain is so fond of you, after all.”

Effete bastard. In response Jack had asked if Sami wasn’t more French than Magyar, a suggestion which got him slapped. Dylan wasn’t too happy about it, and barred Sami from his bedroom for two days and nights as punishment. That was fine by Jack, who every night curled up on a pile of cushions at the foot of the bed. The Hungarian snored too loud.

On a bitterly pleasant fall afternoon, Jack was trying to distract himself with a book of poetry Dylan had. It wasn’t helping much, though, since all the love poems made him think of James and all the rest were drivel. He tossed the book aside and stretched out on his pillows. Lunch had already come, along with his bath. He ran his fingers through still-damp locks, startled as ever by the lack of beads and trinkets. Instead, he rubbed his hand over familiar things; the P brand, his sparrow, the scars he’d got in Bengal, Ceylon, Madagascar, Bolivia, and the ones he’d done himself to remember the Pearl. Some were big, others so small that only he knew where to find them. They anchored him back to himself. After feeling every raised blemish, he knew exactly who he was again.

It was an important ritual. Necessary to keeping his reason, as Dylan was due for his noon treat any moment. Overdue, in fact. What ever was keeping the man worried Jack. He’d been waiting for Dylan to start itching for plunder. They couldn’t just stay on the little island lounging and sunbathing and drinking too much day after day. No matter how good a haul they’d had, it wouldn’t keep them afloat long. 

Once they did start planning a run, Jack could start planning his escape. Even if Dylan did drag him along with, it would be far easier to get away from a ship on the open sea than on an island full of minions. With any luck the Captain was held up plotting a raid or smuggling run.

But as the pleasant afternoon turned into a chilly evening with still no Dylan, Jack became more agitated. Something was happening and he could not banish a feeling of dread. He hadn’t heard anything strange all day, so it wasn’t that Gibbs and the rest of the Pearl’s crew were making an attack on the island for his benefit. Something was happening, though.

Worry and fatigue finally got the better of him after dusk had settled. Jack fell into an uneasy sleep full of what should have been the sweetest images of his James holding and touching him. All the lovely pictures in his dream were marred, though, by a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A sudden painful jab in the gut roused him from the slumber abruptly.

“Leave us.” Dylan hissed to the seaman who had kicked him awake. He watched the man go, then looked back at Jack, icy eyes narrowed to slits. “I wouldn’t have expected it, even from you, Jack.”

“Sleep? Man’s got to do it now and again.” He knew humor was the wrong choice. But hell, why change an entire life of risky behavior so late in the game?

Dylan chucked in a way that very much worried Jack. “It must have been your wit that attracted him. Sad, really. He’ll not hear another of your adroit quips where he is.”

Jack could only stare at his captor. Stare frozen as the man drew something unseen from his side and tossed it at him. The saber barely rattled in its scabbard, so snug was the fit. A mark of fine craftsmanship. The black leather and shining steel of the hilt and scabbard taunted him, as did the gold braid of the tassel, stained slightly red. Blood red. 

It was James’ sword. The sword that Will had forged. The sword that Governor Swann had commissioned as a special gift for the man’s promotion. Jack had seen the sword many times during their five days. He’d admired its heft and precision while also admiring how James wielded it when fencing with young William. Oh, how they’d fought to hide their desire during their own little assault. Jack had loved how James’ green eyes had caught the light from his blade and flashed with inner fire. He’d also loved how later, when they came together for the night, James had let him run through some loose play with the weapon before thoroughly ravishing him.

Jack battled with his panic. It was just his sword, not proof that James was in danger. He tried to chuckle away his worry “Nice. Who’d you steal it from?”

“You are well aware who used to own this sword.” Dylan launched into the story of his arrangements to keep watch over the Pearl and her crew in an effort to make sure their attempts to find Jack failed. Boasting that so far he’d kept them from learning anything save his name. The news that someone new had arrived in Newport looking for Jack had intrigued Dylan. The news that his name was James Norrington and he was a Commodore and the commander of Fort Charles, Jamaica was still more fascinating. 

As the tale unfolded, Jack reached out and snatched up the sword, wrapping himself around it protectively. Dylan didn’t have keep speaking, didn’t have to throw gibes at him about his Commodore lover. He didn’t have to hear about how easy it had been to catch such an infamous and experienced military man off guard and ambush him. Jack didn’t have to hear how the commodore had taken a pistol shot to the gut before he’d even had a chance to pull the blade from it’s scabbard.

He was dead... James Norrington. That frustratingly stiff, wholly beautiful, and, despite all expectations, devilishly funny man was dead. And Jack had barely known him. Five days. Just five bloody perfect days. The tears were quiet, but fell nonetheless. Not once during the past nine days of ill treatment had so much as a single tear left his eyes. Finally Dylan had got him to cry.

Jack’s hand slid up the scabbard to grip the hilt of the sword. He tried to draw it fast, but Dylan’s hand closed over his and wrested the weapon from him before the blade was even a hand’s length out.

”Now, now, Jack. I can’t have you killing yourself in your grief over the Commodore. And I can’t have you killing me, either.” The shark smiled. “So I think I’ll sleep with Sami tonight. I hope you won’t be too lonely.”

The man walked to a table in the room and exchanged James’ sword for a set of manacles. Jack sat in stunned horror as his wrists were bound, the short length of chain secured to the leg of Dylan’s bed. 

“There, all comfy? I’ll leave you to your sorrow, my dear. I am sorry, truly. He seemed a handsome man. Such a waste.” Dylan kissed his cheek and smiled an evil smile as he stood back up and removed something from an inner pocket. “You’ll want this.”

The letter James had sent him fluttered down to land in his lap. Jack stared at it numbly. He waited until Dylan was gone to look at the sword where it had been left on the table. Left to taunt him. Jack clutched the letter to his chest and slumped against the foot of the bed. A bed his captor had defiled him in night after wretched night. The numbness slowly overtook him until all hope and joy drained from him utterly.

* * *

Gibbs bolted upright in his hammock, nearly flipping over in the action. He righted himself and yelled at the person who had woken him. “Haven’t I told ya it’s bad luck ta wake a man!?”

“No.” Connor blinked at him. “Anamaria sent me to wake you. He’s here.”

The sailor jumped from the hammock at a run and made for the door, the Scotsman sprinting after him. They sped through the ship, dodging sailors who milled about the deck. They were watching the knot of people in the stateroom of the Pearl. Gibbs skittered to a halt in front of the last man he’d ever expected to be that happy to see. 

“Commodore!”

James looked up from where his eyes had been fixed. That was, on a man bleeding on the cleared dinning table behind Jack’s desk. “Mr. Gibbs.”

The understanding that passed between them was silent and quick, neither had to say what they knew. Gibbs nodded at the fellow on the table. “Who’s he then?” 

James looked back at the man who Elizabeth was trying to keep from bleeding out. “Edward Dracup, a member of my crew. He took a pistol shot meant for me.”

“Brave man.” Gibbs reached out to squeeze James’ shoulder. It couldn’t be easy to see a man die in your stead. 

“I doubt I’m worth it.”

Both men watched in silence as Elizabeth sent Will to fetch a surgeon. The Dracups stayed back, away from the goings on. None of them dared get in anyone’s way. Anamaria was bandaging a sword wound on Daveth’s arm. His other arm was wrapped tight around a distraught Reuben. Abraham was holding his sobbing daughter close. But for all of Elizabeth’s efforts, and the surgeon’s arrival, he’d lost too much blood. Before dawn, Edward had left them. James walked away from the room, unable to face the Dracups yet. He found the bow of the ship and looked out over the harbor.

“What happened?” Asked Gibbs, moving up behind him with an uncanny stealth. 

James started. He gulped back tears of frustration that threatened to e He fall. Good lord, he’d wept more in the past fortnight than he’d done in all the preceding years of his life. What did Jack do to him? Or maybe it was the traces of laudanum still in his body.

“Ambush, though I’m still at a loss for how they knew who I was. We did report to the Harbormaster when we came into port. It should have been routine, but he stalled us. Rather awhile. So we returned to my ship to await word. They hit us during dinner, five of them. It’s a damn good thing I’m as untrusting as I am. I’d set a watch. In the fight, Edward took a ball that I know was aimed at me because the man yelled my name before he fired.” James gave the other man a stymied look.

“How in blazes did he know ya?”

“I can only suspect that the harbormaster is in Maurer’s confidence. I did ask if the Black Pearl was still moored and where. I know Jack doesn’t usually make his presence known to authorities, but I figured with Elizabeth aboard.” James shrugged.

“Aye. We have been all official and legal during this trip, except that we’ve been registering under a false name. I suppose if Maurer were keeping a watch on us he’d tell the harbormaster to report anyone looking fer us, too. The ship were boarded a week or so after Jack disappeared. His cabin was broken into and a lockbox I know he keeps there was taken. Might there have been any letters or mementos of your... um...” Gibbs looked like the effort to find a word for their relationship was more than he could handle.

“Affaire?” James supplied with a smirk.

“Aye, that.” Gibbs waited, not saying more.

“I did send him a note after he’d left. It wasn’t what one would call a love letter, but I did express that I missed him terribly. If the man found that he might have been waiting for someone named James to come asking after Jack and the Pearl.” He hadn’t signed his full name to the letter.

“Right, then. Do you love him?” 

Damn. Didn’t mince words, this one. James smirked again and tried to sound as droll as he could. “Yes. Madly, in fact. I’m quite ridiculous over him, if you must know. I’ve hardly gotten a wink of sleep since your letter and if we manage not to save him, I’m seriously considering drowning myself.”

“A pistol shot to the head would be quicker.” The sailor said it in all seriousness. “I can’t have you falling apart on me in this, Norrington. What’s with the cane?” 

He looked at the stick Gibbs was pointing at, blinking. James had gotten so used to it he scarcely paid attention anymore. “I injured my ankle in Port Royal. It’s healing fine, however. Nothing to worry about.” Something suddenly occurred to James as he stared at the silver knob of his stick. “My sword.”

“What?” Gibbs blinked at him.

“They took my sword. I haven’t a clue why, but the villains took my sword. Why in the name of God would they take my sword?” It had been strange, getting used to walking on a ship without the solid weight of it against his hip, but with his ankle still healing he found it was tripping him up more than anything. Besides, it felt altogether awkward to wear a saber with civilian garments. James gaped at Gibbs, hoping for some insight. 

“Did they take anything else?” The man gave him a puzzled look.

“Not that I’m aware of, and it definitely wasn’t the richest thing aboard. If they merely wanted plunder though, there are better sources I’m sure. Young Daveth even managed to kill one of them while they tarried for it. What’s so damned special about my sword?” The memory of Edward catching up the weapon in hopes of using it after he’d been disarmed came to James. Unfortunately, the pistol shot had found him first. The blade had lain beneath him still sheathed as the fight continued. James only contribution to the fight had been parrying with his stick while his back was pressed to a wall. 

Gibbs shrugged. “Some men can’t help themselves if they see a bit a shine. A sword isn’t what I’d lay hands on in that situation... unless.” The man’s eyes widened. “Damn. It’s a custom work, ain’t it? Distinctive.”

“Yes, Will forged it.”

“And Jack’s seen it. Now, a man’s sword can be a right personal thing. Something no one else would have. Something that would identify you to Jack.” Gibbs’ words were hurried.

“Yes.” James’ voice was as cold as his blood was going.

The response Gibbs gave was equally chilly. “He thinks yer dead. The bastard has Jack thinking he killed ya.”

“Oh, god. We have to find him. Have you been able to learn anything more since your letter?” James forced back a rush of panic. He needed to think like a military tactician, not a love befuddled twit.

“No. We’ve been searching, checking all the places Maurer and his crew frequent, but they’ve been too bleed’n careful. A step ahead of us every time. What we did learn was more rumor than fact. Maurer’s supposed to have a secret island harborage, but where that island is exactly, no one can say.” Gibbs frowned. For days he’d been beating himself up over their lack of progress in finding Jack.

“Maybe the harbormaster knows something. We can pay him a visit to begin and work from there.” James turned quickly, fully intending to drag Gibbs along with him to hold council. Abraham, standing like a rock, stopped him before he got far.

“Commodore.” The man’s face was a tableau of sorrow and pain. James stood before him in silence a moment.

“Gibbs, could you inform Will and Elizabeth that I need to see all of you in the stateroom shortly to discuss a plan of attack. Anyone else you feel will be useful should also attend.” The sailor nodded and left, casting him a sympathetic look. James turned to his shipmaster. “I’m sorry, Abraham. Nothing I can say will ease the loss of your son. I’ve always hated the way some Naval commanders try to offer comfort with awkward platitudes. I won’t insult you like that.”

“Thank you, sir.” The man looked at his feet, then back at him. “Edward was a good man, a good son. He always wanted to join the Navy, but I wouldn’t have it. I was pressed into service as a lad and have never lied about my dislike for you lot. Deserted right quick, I did. Edward was honored to sail for you, even just as a civilian. The way he took that shot...” Abraham’s face faltered as though he was holding back. “Well, I think he felt it was his duty to protect you. Like a proper seaman of the Crown. I’ll get over my sorrow, but Edward left a wife and unborn child to care for.”

“You needn’t worry. I won’t forget his sacrifice. You and your family have a place on the Nereid for as long as I own her. And Edward’s wife will be cared for. The man died like a marine, he’ll be honored as one. I’ll see to that.” In the span of his career, many men had traded their lives for his. Until now, though, it had been a matter of duty, something he would have done for a commanding officer without thought. To have someone who wasn’t bound by any oath do the same was startling indeed.

“Thank you, sir. There is another boon I have to ask.”

“Ask it.” James nodded curtly. Whatever the Dracups wanted, he’d try to deliver.

“We want in this. That gal Anamaria told me about their Captain being taken by this Maurer bastard. The same man who attacked us and took my boy from me. We have a right to revenge and we’ll be taking it. We’ll get your friend back and kill the whoresons responsible for Edward.” The man’s voice was a mix of anger and pain. His eyes fixed determinedly on James. He wouldn’t take a refusal.

James reached out to squeeze the man’s shoulder. “Thank you. Yes, it is your right and I’m grateful for your aid, as well.”

“Right. Let’s got to it, then.” Together the men left the bow to join those already assembled in, and just outside, the stateroom.

James walked through the throng of crewmen, his shoulders back and chin tipped up. Even limping slightly and walking with the aid of a cane he looked the picture of military might and know-how. He looked first to the shrouded body of Edward. Later, his family would sail the Nereid out of the bay to release his body to the sea, the only proper burial for a sailor. After a prayer for the man’s soul, James returned his eyes to his little militia. 

He looked around, noting Will was holding his wife close. Edward’s death had affected her rather harshly. James suspected it had more to do with her failure to help him and her worry over Jack. That dark woman, Anamaria, was standing stock still, holding the hand of a man he didn’t know. Her chin was lifted up defiantly, as though she see was issuing James a challenge. Abraham rejoined the other Dracups near the table where their fallen kin lay. And Gibbs? He was standing with arms crossed before the large group of sailors that stretched back out of the room. “They all wanted in.” 

Stealing himself as an officer should, James nodded. “You know why we’re here. We have to free Jack and pay this Dylan Maurer for all the grief he’s caused. I’m sorry I could not bring more Naval power with me. I do not come in the name of the Royal Navy, but by my own wish. What I can offer is knowledge of strategy and combat. That, and a passion to see Jack safe again.”

Will’s head came up suddenly from where he’s been laying it on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Why? Not so long ago you wanted to see Jack Sparrow dead as much as this Dylan. Let’s not forget whom it was who issued the order for his hanging. Why the change of heart?”

“Because, Mr. Turner, circumstances change. As bizarre as it may sound, I have become friends with Jack Sparrow. Just as I have with the man who is currently wed to the woman I hoped to marry.” He didn’t dare reveal that he and Jack were more than mere friends. Elizabeth would likely learn of it from her father later and it followed that Will would hear it from her. That he might not be able to control, but he could keep others from knowing. Good sense demanded that the number of people aware of the relationship be kept to a minimum. It was bad enough that Gibbs knew, no telling how long before the rest of the Pearl’s crew found out. And he’d no clue how they would take the knowledge that their Captain was dallying with a high-ranking naval officer. Anamaria looked like she might attack him any moment as it was.

“But why? How and when did you become such good friends?” Confusion ruled on Will’s face. His own befriending of Jack must have been such a blow to his understanding of the world; he couldn’t grasp anyone as steeped in duty and morality as James doing the same. 

“It doesn’t matter, Will. What matters is finding Jack, and if James says he’s here to help, then he is. After what he and his crew went through, how can you question his sincerity?” Elizabeth pulled from her husband’s arms to look at him, and then cast the same glare to the rest of the room.

“I don’t question it. He’s here and that’s that. Now let’s stop squabbling like hens and make a bloody plan.” Gibbs’ anger was right at the surface, you could tell by the ruddy complexion of his face. He looked like he might continue but a woman’s voice stopped him.

“Joshamee?”

Everyone’s eyes went to the young woman who stood on the deck with a shawl wrapped haphazardly around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed and she was working to catch her breath. Katie came forward to be hugged quickly by the man whose name she’d called. “I ran as fast as I could.”

“What is it, Katie darling?” The color on Gibbs’ face eased. James wondered suddenly if there was something about being around Jack Sparrow that made people fall in love. The ship seems full of couples.

“It’s Brock, he’s at the Horse. He came in last night with a knife wound. Anne’s been caring for him all night. I just found out about it when I came in to help Mary with the baking. She sent me to tell you.” Katie looked around at everyone, her eyes finally finding Edward’s corpse. She gasped in fright and looked away to bury her face in Gibbs shoulder. 

“Brock?” James looked to Will.

“One of Maurer’s men. He has a sweetheart among the serving girls of the inn they were in the night Jack was taken. The proprietress has been giving us information.” 

James nodded and turned back to the girl. “Miss?”

Turning her face from the comfort of her lover, she looked James up and down anxiously. She no doubt could tell he wasn’t a pirate. “Katie, sir.” 

“Katie. Thank you for the report. How badly injured is this Brock?” James tried to be as gentle and non-threatening as he could manage. It wasn’t something he was good at.

“It’s just a bad gash to his side, not too deep. I think he wanted rum and a tumble more than medicine.” She tried to smile, but it came out forced.

“Well, his foolishness is to our advantage.” James looked around and gestured for attention. “Everyone, I have a plan.”

* * * 

Brock was trying to sleep. His side hurt like all hell and his head wasn’t much better. Maybe a bottle of rum wasn’t the best choice after losing a bit of blood to that bitch’s blade. He couldn’t believe he’d let a woman get through his defenses to wound him. She’d done it, though. Her and that stiletto of hers. He’d hoped he could get her away from the rest of the quarry for a bit of fun; Dylan hadn’t told them to not to. A course he hadn’t known there’d be anyone to ravish on the little ship.

So he’d ended up with a gash to his side and wounded pride as the lads teased him for taking a hit from a girl. He’d told them to bugger off and left them to find the White Horse and Anne. She’d make him feel better, sweet bit of jam tart that she was.

He rolled over, wincing at the pain. Someone was making too much noise. How could a man hope to get any rest if people were outside his bloody door making a row? Brock pulled a pillow over his head to try and muffle it. Through the pillow he heard the door to the room open with a little creak.

“Dammit, Anne. I told you not to wake me.” He threw off the pillow to find the tip of a sword drawing within inches of his face.

“Sorry, mate. I’m not Anne and you’re in the shite.” Daveth Dracup gave the man a sinister grin before gesturing to the men behind him with rope and a large canvas sack. “You’ve a date to keep with the Black Pearl and her crew.”

To be continued…


End file.
